


Athazagoraphobia

by Dearest_Solitude



Series: Wondrous Words [3]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Forced Marriage, Implied abuse, Infidelity, Jealousy, Mount fraught syndrome, Older Man/Younger Woman, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Stockholm Syndrome, Yandere, minor infantilism, reference to abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearest_Solitude/pseuds/Dearest_Solitude
Summary: Olaf finds out Violet is scared she is disappearing. He takes it upon himself to set her straight.
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Series: Wondrous Words [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696213
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Athazagoraphobia

**Author's Note:**

> Athazagoraphobia  
> Noun. The fear of forgetting, being forgotten, ignored, or replaced.

The moonlit bedroom appeared almost womb-like, dark and warm and comfortable. Haphazard decorations created ominous silhouettes against the dim glow of the thin, red curtains hanging crookedly across the windows. The whole place smelled of musk and smoke and the tartness of whatever liquor had earlier been spilled onto the carpet. 

Olaf woke to the sound of muffled sobs. He rolled over with a soft groan, pushing the heavy coverlet off of his chest and swallowing the sour taste in his mouth. In the time it took his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he had identified the sound as his underage wife, Violet Baudelaire. 

Blinking at the empty space beside him, he tossed out a hand. 

The corner of the blanket was folded back, as if she’d tried to slip out while disturbing as little of the environment as possible. The sheet underneath was cool. She’d been up for some time, then.

He sighed, sitting up, and rubbed his head. It ached, a regretful remnant of the last night's festivities. Perhaps he had been a little over zealous in his celebration, but it was with good reason. The opening night of his newest show had been a resounding success. 

Violet, it seemed, did not share in his delight.

Eyes straining, he scanned the room for her, catching sight in only a moment. 

She sat at the very end of their canopy bed, shoulders hiked up her ears, legs pressed together, attempting to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. One hand clutched at her stomach, the other covering her mouth to muffle her cries. 

“Baby, honey, darling, princess,  _ what _ is the matter?” Olaf crooned, reaching towards the shaking girl. 

She startled, body tensing, and her arms fell into her lap where she clasped her hands. It seemed she hadn't heard him come awake.

“It’s nothing,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Nothing at all—” On the word “all” a sob bubbled up from her throat and she began to cry all over again. 

Olaf scooted closer, blanket bunching up around his hips, leaning to the side so he could see her face. The little light available outlined her face gently, allowing him to see the soft curve of her nose, the roundness of cheeks, and the long curl of her hair. She turned to look at him, and—Oh, wasn’t she darling? The light glimmered across the tear tracks streaking down her face. He had the urge to mar them, and did so in the form of pinching her cheek. 

She flinched, but didn’t try to pull away. She knew better.

“Come on then, let’s hear it.”

The constant drip from the bathroom, the unexplainable creeks that often sounded like footsteps, and Violet’s shaky breathing as she attempted to calm herself interrupted the otherwise peaceful room. Olaf had almost run out of patience, just about ready to  _ make _ her talk— He’d found her more agreeable to the carrot than the stick, but a good old fashion bruise tended to do the trick and he was too tired to cajole an answer out of her anyways—when she spoke.

“I’m disappearing,” she whispered, looking up at him, eyes full of fright. 

He pulled back, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?” Did she expect to be kidnapped? As if he’d let anyone harm his pretty little prize.

“Earlier,” she said in a low voice, pausing long enough he wondered if she planned to stop there. “I know I wasn’t allowed but I…” A heaved breath made her chest shudder. “I went down stairs during the party.”

Anger burst inside of him, all white hot, licking down his spine. He tensed but didn’t move, waiting for her to continue. She’d have a good explanation. She’d better. 

She glanced over at him, eyes fearful, but she must’ve deemed it safe enough to continue because she said, “I just wanted to see you… celebrating. I know how hard you worked. I was just…” Her jaw clenched over whatever word she wanted to say, and she shrugged. “But I saw you, and some-some  _ woman _ ,” the pitch of her voice grew higher as she struggled not to lose her cool. “In a tiny little dress, and she was rubbing herself all over you—” She took a second, breath hissing between her teeth. “And then you- kissed her!” With a wail, she threw her hands over her face again and began to sob. 

The bed creaked as Olaf leaned back, pulling his hands across his own face, trying to make sense of what she’d said. 

Her disobedience troubled him. He didn’t let anyone see her, ever.

Originally he’d enjoyed the attention she garnered. She was his trophy, after all, proof of the Baudelaire’s ruin. But soon enough he grew sick of the way his associates eyed her, whistling when she served them their dinner with her sad little “don’t hurt me!” face that begged to be fucked.

He didn’t do it to be cruel. He did it because she was his wife and he didn’t understand why anyone else would need to look at, or talk to, or think about her. 

When the house was empty, she had free reign, so he figured it wasn’t all too bad for her. She could go out in the garden, or do whatever wives did in their free time. During parties or meetings though, she knew he expected her to stay in their room. 

He thought he might’ve been more angry about her disobedience but the fact that she’d wanted to see him celebrating his success made him a little soft inside. Of course there was also the matter of the woman. He didn’t feel guilty for sleeping with her, but he hadn’t meant for Violet to know about it either. She was fragile enough as it was.

The woman was sitting in the front row when she caught his eye with a wink and a long creamy leg sticking out from the high slit in her gown’s skirt. After the bowing, and the little speech, and the flowers and applause, Olaf had sent Hooky to invite her to the after party at his house. 

The bustling event had been full of cheer and drunk toasting and probably a great many other things Olaf would come to regret later. 

He’d already consumed a great deal of cheap wine by the time the woman arrived. She was wearing a different dress than at the show, and he noticed because it could barely be called a dress at all. 

Closer to lingerie, the tiny black thing covered only what it had to, just a little bit of lace and so much skin. Her legs were long and shapely, accentuated by the high stiletto heels she stalked across the room in. Her luxurious blonde hair curled over her shoulders, and her dark eyes and bright red lips screamed of experience. 

Olaf loved having sex with Violet. He loved the way her face would flush, loved the noises he could coax out of her, loved the gasp she made when she came. 

But he also liked women with experience, and in his defense, he had been very, very drunk. 

The bed creaked again as he reached out to snag Violet around the middle and pull her in between his thighs. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You broke the rules, saw another woman kiss me, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” He paused, brow furrowing. “And what does this have to do with disappearing? I hope you’re not planning on running away because of it.” His grip on her tightened. He’d break her legs if she tried.

Wriggling slightly, she settled herself, back pressed against his chest. He rested his chin on top of her head. God, she was so small. 

“I don’t have anyone but you,” she said, voice thin.

The words made his heart sing.

“My parents are dead, my siblings are- gone.” They didn’t talk about her siblings, not ever. “No one even knows I’m alive except for you.” She took a deep breath, as if it hurt her, but at least she was talking now. He’d gotten pretty good at calming her down when she panicked. A stern voice and a tight squeeze worked wonders. 

“If you… I don’t know, if you don’t want me anymore, if you want some other woman as your wife—someone with blonder hair, or- bigger breasts— you could have them. Every woman wants to be with you.”

Olaf nodded, preening. He might’ve basked in it, but it wasn’t the time. 

“Yes, yes, you are very lucky I chose you as my wife, orphan,” he said. “Now tell me what your sniveling is about.”

Trembling, Violet’s fingers curled around the blanket scrunched up beneath her. “If you decide to get rid of me, I’ll just stop existing. I’m already halfway there; no one remembers me. I’m—I’m a concept, maybe, and there’s only you!” She twisted her head around to look at him, desperate. “I’m real! I want to be real again!”

She began to cry again, his weepy little lady, as he digested what she’d said. It was true, if she dropped off the face of the earth he would be the only one aware of it. But he didn’t plan on letting go of her, not now, not ever.

Grasping her around the waist, Olaf turned her around to face him. She crossed her legs, arranging herself neatly in his lap, even through her tears. What a good girl.

He pinched her chin, tilting her face up towards his. “How many times did you see me kiss that woman?” he asked her. 

The question seemed to snap her out of her pity party. She blinked at him. “Just once” she said, sniffling.

Glad she hadn’t witnessed more, he nodded at her. That would save him some time. He’d like to go back to sleep before the sun rose, please.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against hers. 

Soft as always, they parted in surprise, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

She let him kiss her, leaning into him, pliable as always, until he pulled away to let her breathe. He learned her limits early on, though he’d gotten good at pushing them.

“Why…?” She started to ask, but he leaned down and kissed her again, enjoying it the second time as much as the first.

“There,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve kissed you twice, so there’s no need for you to be jealous anymore.”

Violet settled down into his arms, resting her head against his chest. She still looked troubled, but he didn’t think she would start crying again.

“Now, about all that silly ‘disappearing’ talk.” Olaf leaned forward, propping his forearms on her shoulders, his face inches from her own. “What business is it of yours if you disappear or not? If I want you around you’ll be around.”

She paled, stammering. “I only- I—”

“You’re real when I’m holding you,” he said. He leaned closer, leering. “You’re real when I’m inside you.”

She dropped her gaze. If there had been more light, he would’ve been able to see her cheeks flush. She always got so adorably flustered when he talked about sex.

“See? You’re real enough when I need you to be. Other than that, does it really matter?” He paused, but she didn’t answer, didn’t move. His eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, sweetcheeks.”

Her fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt like it could keep her from disappearing for real. “...You’re right,” she whispered. “You’re right, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Good girl.” Olaf straightened, mouth stretching in a loud yawn. “Enough of that, then.” Sliding his hands up to grab her shoulders, he flopped backwards, pulling her with him. 

She yelped, scrambling against him, but stilled as he slid one hand beneath the pillows and the other across her. 

“Sleep now.” He released her for a moment to pull the blanket up over them. Violet’s heart beat against her chest, as fragile and soft as she was. Wriggling down a little, he reached one hand around her waist and kissed the back of her head. She smelled a little like lavender and, of course, like him. He smiled. “Tomorrow I’m going to have to punish you for your rule breaking, but for now, sweet dreams, Countess dear.”

Her heart stuttered and she tensed, but then, in the same fashion of a wound up ribbon uncurling into its original shape, she relaxed. He could tell from the way her breath caught between her teeth she wanted to say something, though.

“What is it?” He sighed. “Hurry up. I’m tired and my patience is not infinite.”

She fidgeted, clearly unsure how to proceed. “Would you…” she released a shaky breath. “Would you say my name? Please?” 

The strange request took him by surprise. He didn't think he would ever understand her but— what the hell?

“Goodnight, Violet, my Violet,” he crooned, and she sighed, pressing herself closer to him. 

“Thank you. Good night, Olaf,” she murmured gratefully. 

Olaf hummed in response and, with a final yawn, closed his eyes. The room fell quiet again, just him and his disappearing wife in their huge canopy bed, silhouetted by the faint glow of the red curtains.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos make my day and comments make my week! My tumblr is @dearest-solitude if you'd ever like to chat <3


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